


Tourmaline - The Prequels

by ScribblesInTheMargins



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Mother's Day, Tourmaline - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-05 22:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14627925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribblesInTheMargins/pseuds/ScribblesInTheMargins
Summary: These are the little ficlet prequels that are all stand alones from my story Tourmaline.  Putting them all here as chapters until something better occurs to me :)First - Mother's day -This is a little stand alone one shot that ties into the larger story 'Tourmaline' I am writing, but it is just a little piece of cuteness that stands on its own. (Lilia & Yuri, Lilia & Yakov)Second - Mama is sick - Stand alone from when Yuri is five.  Not at all a cute story, sad but short.  (Yuri & Nikolai, Yuri & Yuri's mother)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In Russia, mother's day is celebrated on the last Sunday in November

Lilia Baranovskaya had been working with the young Yuri Plisetsky for a year now, and his skating had blossomed under her tutelage.  To see such a change in the young man had brought a smile to her lips on occasion, lips that hadn't smiled in so many years.

 

Even her husband's presence was less horrendous -- ex husband's.  The divorce had been official for five years, and unofficial for many more than that.  Now though, her house was no longer empty. Once again Yakov was leaving his shoes out and Potya was meowing incessantly for attention, but it felt nice.  Even the stomping and door slamming from Yuri was a welcome distraction from the overwhelming silence that had once occupied her life.

 

Now, she traveled more.  Last summer, she had taken the boy with her to Paris.  He had only been there for skating before, had never even seen the museums.  She had brought him to all of them, exposed him to fine food and fine wine. She had brought him to the danse classique while she trained and watched how all the other students watched the intense young Russian.  His blond hair and sharp eyes melded with determination as the skater tried to keep up with the dancers -- and he did. She was so proud of him.

 

When he drew Skate America as a preliminary for the Grand Prix, she went with, reserving a small suite instead of one of the rooms typical for the skaters and her husband -- who was most decidedly not staying with her.  To have him in her house was one thing but to have her husband -- no, ex-husband in a hotel room with her was not something she was willing to do.

 

It was the end of November and the short program for the men's division would be the in two days.  There would be no need to hurry breakfast. They could do as they always did, perhaps dine in her suite, perhaps she would even invite Yakov.

 

Today was Sunday and after the flight from Russia, relaxing seemed like a perfect thing.  As she made a cup of tea for herself, she heard a knock at the door. Confused as to who it could be, she walked to the door.  Of all the things she expected, it was not this.

 

Yuri looked up at her, trying a smile, but it was too uncertain and only lasted a second before his face dropped back to its normal scowl.  In his hands though, he held a bouquet of flowers -- not that he wouldn't be drowning in flowers in just a few day's time. No, these were not thrown on the ice as a tribute to his skating.  There was something different about these. A dozen pink roses the boy had gotten from someplace in the few hours they had been in this country were held out, offered to her.

 

Her eyebrows furrowing a little in confusion, this was not like the boy's normal behavior.  She took them though, about to ask why when the boy shook his head, eyes down and hidden in the black hoodie he always seemed to wear.  He mumbled a thank you in Russian and then turned to rush back to the elevator, leaving Lilia there with pink roses. As she walked back into her room, still confused, she remembered what day it was.  The last Sunday in November and for the first time in her life, she had been given flowers on that day.

 

Her chest felt tight and a tear slipped from her eyes.  They were by no means the prettiest flowers she had ever gotten, nor the first flowers -- no a long career as an incredibly successful dancer had made sure of that.  As she looked at the flowers the boy had gotten her though, she felt herself start to cry, a little piece of her heart thawed that she hadn't even known had been frozen away.  

 

She wasn't his mother.  She knew precious little of his mother.  However, that she was the one he had given flowers to on Mother's day -- she couldn't stop crying, her tea forgotten.  Every sigh, every door slam, every reminder about picking up his things -- it was all worth it in that instant.


	2. Mama is sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Yuri is just five, he is let down again.

It was the middle of summer in Moscow, oppressive heat and days without a hint of wind to lift the stagnant air  Next year, little Yura would be starting school, finally old enough, and he was so excited for that. He had finally turned five, but even so, he didn't really have friends.  He'd been living with his grandfather for a few months now, and it was so nice, even if it had meant moving to the other side of town. He knew he should miss his Mama though.  Sometimes, he admitted to himself that he didn't miss her, and those were the times that Yura felt guilty.

 

It was Sunday, and the air inside the church clung to him, so stale and sweltering.  The building, crowded to near capacity, felt as if people were pressing to him from every side.  That didn't stop his grandfather though, no, little Yura's hand was firmly held by that much larger and wrinkled one as his grandfather exchanged some shiny coins for a few wax candles.  As the church was filling up, little Yura was led to the front, to the other candles, already burning, tendrils of wax melting down their sides.

 

Even with all his hair shaved off, just the slightest bit of fuzz on his head, Yura was still too hot, a bit of sweat dripping down his forehead as his grandfather picked him up, balancing the boy on one hip as the old man lit two of the three candles, kissing each one before setting it in the sand to burn with the others, one for Yuri's mother and one for Yuri's grandmother.

 

Then the final, thin, wax candle was placed in the boy's hand, _"Kiss it, Yuratchka, for your mother."_  

 

He knew it was meant to be a prayer from him for his mother, that she would get well and be home soon, home to be with him again.  He didn't understand what was wrong, or why she was sick. He knew she was sick, Grandpa told him that all the time.  He knew it was bad, whatever it was. They weren't supposed to talk about it to anyone.

 

His big, blue-green eyes looked at the candle, and he pressed his lips to the wax.  He didn't pray how his grandfather wanted him to. Instead, he prayed for winter, for ice again, to skate again, and most importantly, for his mother to never, ever come home again.

 

Grandpa said God could do so much and was so kind, so little Yura prayed.  Desperately, with all the heart a five-year-old could have. He'd give anything for his prayer to be answered, any deal.  No mother -- it was all his heart desired, he'd give up skating and winter and candy, anything, anything to make that prayer come true.  If God could make that happen, he'd pray for eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So evidently the last little ficlet oneshot wasn't the only one that was going to get written. Here you go. Shaved head, sad, lonely, 5 year old Yuri.
> 
> I don't know when these will happen, they are entirely random an spawned by lines in my main story that just have a backstory that there is no way to fit in the main story.


End file.
